Who are the people that have made the biggest impact on your life? For each of us that list is different. There will be the usual suspects like parents, teachers and coaches, but let us go a bit deeper. Who is really on that list of yours?

For me it was one of my first patients. She had bone cancer that began in her breast. Today, she may have been saved, but this was the 60’s. Her only solace was pain killers. She had such dignity and calmness. I have always remembered that. God bless her sweet soul. May she rest in peace. Her name was Jane.

You taught me how to live while dying, Jane. I was just too young to know it then.

The next one is a nurse’s aid I worked with named Betty. She was much younger than me and street smart, very kind and funny. We made an instant connection. She was the first black person I was close to. She was a single Mother and worked very hard at holding her family together. I admired Betty. She threw a baby shower for me when I was expecting our second child. Betty died too young of complications from the dreaded diabetes. I loved Betty. She held me in her arms as my Mom lay dying of a brain aneurysm. She wiped away my tears. I have never forgotten that moment. She was so fine. Thank you, Betty. I loved you.

Then there is Yvette. She too was a nurse’s aid and worked at the nursing home where my Dad was a resident. Dad was at the end of his life’s journey. I was at his side constantly. She knew I was deeply grieving, but I never told her what a comfort she was. She too was a black lady, and as she bathed my dying Dad, she began to sing the sweetest gospel song I have ever heard. It was so beautiful and serene it brought immediate beauty to the moment. She was so soft and gentle . . . her sweet words so comforting. Thank you, Yvette. You changed me. I have not been the same person since being in that room with you that miraculous day. I am sorry I never told you.

Father Steve. Yes, Father Steve, you are on my list. I would never thought it possible when first encountering you. You worked your slow magic on me and in the process changed my life. I always knew you were a holy man, but the big revelation came when you visited me in the hospital after my knee surgery. You came to see me twice and stayed both times over 30 minutes. You were so genuinely interested in my husband and I.

I can still picture you leaning against the wall, talking calmly as you were in no particular hurry. We talked about family, gardening, social events, St Charles. Always St. Charles. You described so many hopes and dreams for our church and school. You were very interested to learn I was in the very first second grade there. A lot of people found you stiff and unfriendly but from that day forward I knew different. You were a one-on-one guy! You gave me the courage to return to confession after a  very long time. You had no judgment, you just “slowly brought me through it.” Thank you, Fr. Steve, for all you do for us and for giving me the courage to receive this beautiful sacrament once again. We are lucky to have Fr. Steve.

I will never forget Morris. He was a patient I cared for on my unit. He was desperately ill with end stage Aids. This was in the late eighties and long before the “aids cocktail” offered today. All we could do was treat his symptoms and make him as comfortable as possible. Morris was (to our knowledge) the first patient with aids at my hospital. When I received my list of patients for the day, Morris was on it. My first thought was of him, and how I wanted to comfort him and not make him feel uncomfortable in any way. Truthfully, I was afraid. I had never actually cared for a patient with aids and it was a little frightening. Upon entering his room, I saw a young man not much older than my own son. He was thin, weak, feverish, covered with sores and was very frightened. We hit it off immediately.

He began to talk and told me he had many friends but had been abandoned by his family years ago. He broke my heart. His partner never left his side. Their devotion and love for one another was deeply touching. I was to care for Morris many times over the next couple of weeks. When he went home to be with our Lord, with his partner at his side, the room was peaceful and serene. I remember thinking that he was no longer suffering and that his life had been all too short.

Thank you. Morris, for teaching me about love and that Aids is more than a disease. It is not “that patient” down the hall, nor does one’s disease define who we are.

He was God’s child; he was perfect, and beautiful.

She wore well

coming on slowly

until she allowed you

to journey her.

She wore her beauty

like a hidden treasure,

all natural and fresh.

She rarely spoke

but her eyes

held hidden messages

waiting to be revealed.

She revealed

if you took the time

to unwrap and notice.

She moved gracefully

like a loose ribbon

in a dance.

She was shy

unless you were lucky

enough

to be her love.

She was fluid

like a silk tunic.

She wore the world

like a loose garment

knowing

she would remove it

when it was time.

Lima is a town, not unlike many others, with problems such as unemployment and the accompanying increase in crime.

Lima, Ohio is not just a place. It is home to so many people with the good sense to be born here, and possess its wonderful midwest values and no-nonsense work ethic. No, Lima is not a place, but home to good, kind people. These are the people, the neighbors, who send meals and cards to you after learning that you are having a rough time.

Lima is a community filled with glorious wheat fields, rows and rows of sweet summer corn and the best home grown tomatoes in the land. Lima is where so many of us grew up, went to GREAT schools (mine, LCC, sends over 90% of their graduates on to college). Lima is marching bands, summer parades, lovely parks, reserviors, and farmer’s markets. Lima is home to “set up housekeeping,”  raise your children and, if you are real lucky, walk in your home and look into the beautiful face of your sweetheart who you grew up with and married right here in your home, Lima.

Not Even a Breath Could Alter You

Who did she resemble?
We will never know.

Our sweet baby fresh and new,
A babe so innocent and pure–
Not even a breath could alter you.

Why was your visit so short?

We couldn’t wait to hold you,
we were so ready
to enfold and unfold you.

A little room readied with
gingham and lace.
It is nearly time,
everything is in place.

Most likely eyes of brown or green,
sable curls waiting
to be stroked and cleaned.

So much love waiting here
for you–so wanted.
Did you feel it?
Do you feel it?

Once we meet you,
will we be able to play?
Why did God send you?
And take you away?

How Did I Get So Lucky to Be Dancing with You?

                          for Jon

She walked up to him.
He could tell she liked him.

Let’s hold one another
and feel the music.

Let’s see where it takes us,
she said, as we moved

to the rhythm
slowly feeling its pulse.

You smell delicious,
she whispered in his ear.

He smiled.
You are yummy too.

The music continued.
Was anyone else around?

Well, were they?
Did it matter?

She moved closer into him.
He did too.

Their bodies
so meant for one another.

She pulled back and looked deep
into his beautiful green eyes.

You are the most beautiful
man I have ever known.

You are, she said.
How did I get so lucky

to be dancing with you?

I wish the music could
last forever, he thought,

as he felt her soft cheek
against his rough cheek.

Words were not needed
or invited.

We both thought the dance
would be wonderful.

And for forty one years,
it has been.

This sweet, sometimes fast,
sometimes slow,

always together dance,
our marriage.

The Filth That Is You

     How much fun is it to work outside in the dirt?

     Now, I am not talking about a little dirt … here and there. Oh no. The kind of get down dirty I refer to is slogging around in the dirt, becoming literally covered from head to toe, including hair, shoes, face and all parts in between.  The soil and filth about which I, and others (you know who you are), refer.

     Oh the pure joy of it! Could there be anything better for us grime-loving earth lovers of dirt? I really don’t think so. I like it best when it is not too wet, nor too dry, but somewhere in between. It can be loose, not too tightly packed, but not sand.

     Yes! To be in that abject manner of impurity, so dirty you don’t want to stop, come in the house and clean up; yet not dirty enough to have satisfied the filth that is you. Some onlookers may stare, most likely thinking, “Now, how did she get so dirty?” To us dirt lovers, we take not a notice. We prod dirtily ahead knowing that we are in one heavenly state of uncleanliness.

     I am soiled, stained, and yes, muddy. That is the mantra of the dirt lover.  Dirty, yet joyful, content in the knowledge that they are doing exactly what they have been born to do. Their destiny fulfilled, their sense of raw defilement satiated. How much fun is it to work outside in the dirt? Just about the closest thing to heaven here on earth and every grimy, filthy, mud hole in between.

Remember Me When I Was Here

Remember me when I walked on this Earth

I  will remember the stars in your smile and the moon who circled your laughter

Remember me when I was here, loving you so much that we both knew we had something special

I will remember the notes I heard in your words every time you picked up the phone and heard my voice

Remember all the fun we had, the crazy things we did, said and thought

I will remember we could do no wrong-even the trees would bow to see us together

Remember how we both struggled to be “left-handed,” with all of our right brains so fully engaged

I will remember on the left side of time I will always find the right side of your soul

Remember how summer began with “Let it be so,” and so it began, and how we loved it

I will remember how a simple day of water and sun could last as long as your words in my heart

Remember my opinionated kindness with a side portion of  “festering wound”

I  will remember how time changed you into a work of art on a canvas made of pure spirit

Remember that angels do exist and they came in the form of two little boys

I will remember the sun rose with your heart that day and chased the dark away forever

Remember that I am always with you and only a flick away

I will remember your words in my heart are written with the ink of love

Remember me when I walked, danced, ran, clucked and loved upon this Earth

I will remember how you always changed God into a verb and never kept this secret to yourself

 Lines of Italics by J. Scott Mosel